


Fine Dining

by jennandblitz



Series: Just a Jeepster for Your Love [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Fluff, Inspired By Tumblr, James is the greatest Wingman, M/M, Meet-Cute, Online Dating, POV Sirius Black, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, teensy hint of Jegulus too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 01:20:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19189015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandblitz/pseuds/jennandblitz
Summary: Sirius hates dating apps. But when he sees someone far too gorgeous to pass up on one, he has to take the plunge and slide into those DMs. It doesn't goentirelyto plan.





	Fine Dining

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this tumblr post](https://tinderventure.com/post/184810539194/decided-to-put-my-bruised-ego-aside-and-do-a) and absolutely also got away from me. These boys tend to just run off with my idea of a short fic, don't they?

Sirius hates dating apps. He hates dating, he hates being single, he hates having to wade through this weird process of dating or chatting or mindless flirting, when all he really wants is a nice dinner somewhere, maybe some good conversation and the promise of something lovely without it immediately descending into kink discussions or hormonal-teenage-level dirty talk that’s more cringeworthy than anything arousing. Or perhasps, occasionally, when it’s Friday night and he’s on the sofa alone, maybe he does in fact want a nice, quick, nameless handjob, but he wants there to be _chemistry;_ he wants to have _fun_ , goddamn it.

I hate dating apps, Sirius tells himself again as he swipes right on a handful more profiles, his standards getting lower and lower the further down this bottle of beer he gets, or the longer he goes without a real stimulating—not that kind, Peter—conversation. Most of the responding messages, though, are either that same bland kink discussion or an opening line that makes Sirius want to wretch up that last gulp of beer or that half a falafel pizza he’d shared with Dorcas before they went to get ready for their date with Marlene.

It isn’t that Sirius has high standards, he just has _standards_. Most of the people on dating apps are either overly built _masc4masc_ men with necks the size of Sirius’ thigh—and Sirius was _not_ slim, thank you very much, he could bench press nearly 250lbs—or twinks with Daddy issues and profiles full of selfies on the beach. No wonder everyone asks _who’s the woman_ in gay relationships. Sirius didn’t have an issue with the twinks or the _masc4masc_ men or anything like that, he just wanted someone normal. Not everyone in the community had to be ultra feminised or utterly masculine. Sirius wanted a nice boy who was comfortable in himself and didn’t immediately assume Sirius’ long hair meant he liked bottoming or prancing around in high heels. Or maybe he did? Maybe he _loved_ bottoming and it happened to be his preferred position, but that didn’t mean anyone could _assume_. What the hell did it matter if you didn’t _know_ the person first. It was the judgement he had the issue with.

Presently, swiping idly in either direction, Sirius nearly spits out his mouthful of beer in his hurry to swipe right on a certain photograph. There’s two people in the picture—another damn pet peeve, how was he meant to know which one had the profile? Or worse, if they were exes. _Ugh_. But the sheer attractiveness of the person on the left stops him entirely.

It’s a stupid photo, really, one of them grinning cheerfully and the other looking if they’ve been caught out by the camera but _somehow_ the one on the left is still stunning, something about the way the blush is high in their cheeks and their hair falls just so. They’re pulling a face and frowning, glaring at someone off-screen, but Sirius can see the green of their eyes underneath the furrowed brow and their fingers are oddly sensual around the cup they’re holding.

The profile gets a cursory glance; it’s cheesy and stupid but at least they seem direct and mildly friendly. Sirius couldn’t care, he wants to know who this demigod is.

_Jamie, 27 - 0.5 miles away_

_Hey cutie_ 😉 _I like you already. How about a game of 1v1 footie?_

Sirius rolls his eyes as he takes another swig of beer and pulls up a message. He’s too frustrated and caught off guard by this person to think beyond anything except:

**Sirius:** are you the left? 😍

**Jamie:** Hooo boy. THAT, my dear man, is my best friend Remus. He’s a CATCH, and single.

Well fuck, Sirius thinks, setting his now empty beer bottle down. So much for that. And Jamie seems… oddly keen. He’s about to swipe the conversation away for the sheer strangeness of it when another reply pops up.

**Jamie:** Want his number? He’s sat right next to me.

**Sirius:** wtf mate, you’ve turned matchmaker?

**Jamie:** 💁🏻♂️ I mean, if I don’t float your boat, might as well help out my buddy.

**Sirius:** Uh…. Sure?

There’s silence long enough for Sirius to stand and retrieve another beer from the kitchen, open it on the ratty edge of the kitchen table with a tidy _snap_ that belies the fact they do not have a bottle opener in this bloody kitchen, and sit back on the sofa.

**Jamie:** he says he likes your profile pic, and to text him.

There’s a number included in the message too, and Sirius stares at it for a long moment before composing a quick reply back to Jamie. The oddly optimistic voice in his head that sounds like Dorcas pipes up with _imagine the story!_

**Sirius:** Thanks mate. Good luck 👋🏻

“Who is _that_?” Regulus asks as he leans over the back of the sofa to stare at the profile picture, his voice oddly strangled.

Sirius rolls his eyes and switches over to the messaging app. “ _That_ is a confusing Tinder conversation. Aren’t you due at work?”

Regulus flips him the bird and reaches over to snatch at Sirius’ phone and they tussle for a while until Sirius’ foot comes too close to the beer bottles and Regulus pats him on the shoulder. “Fine,” he mutters, stalking off to his bedroom, but he smiles as he shuts the door.

“Fine yourself!” Sirius calls, ever the petty sibling, before he collects himself, clearing his throat and unlocking his phone again. His fingers are quick to type an opening message whilst Regulus is busy and Dorcas is out and Peter is at work and no one else can try to sabotage his attempt at a love life. Besides himself of course, he’s ever the expert at self-sabotage.

**Sirius:** Hey, it’s Sirius. Your mate Jamie gave me your number.

**Remus:** Hi Sirius. Thought you might’ve gotten cold feet

Sirius resists the urge to put something like _not possible with someone as hot as you_ , and instead bites on the inside of his cheek, knowing that the beautiful man from that picture is on the other end of the phone.

**Sirius:** Nah, just dealing with my wonderful housemates. How’s your night going?

Remus doesn’t reply for a hot second and Sirius swigs some more of his beer and stares worriedly at the message. He wonders if Remus has realised he’s made a mistake by giving his number to Sirius.

**Remus:** Sorry, Jamie was showing me some more of your Tinder profile. He really does like playing matchmaker

**Sirius:** well? Regretting the decision yet?

**Remus:** 😂not a chance, you’re gorgeous

Sirius coughs back a snort of surprise and is halfway through typing a reply when another message comes through;

**Remus:** you free tomorrow night? I know a place that does *great* ramen

**Sirius:** Christ, you’re as forward as Jamie

Shit, he was crap at this. His deadpan humour always came over awfully through text. Sirius swears off a rapid-fire set of curses and taps another response as quick as possible.

**Sirius:** I’m not complaining. I flirt much better in person.

**Remus:** Hm. How about I just come to yours with ramen right now then? Those wonderful housemates out? This place does takeout.

“Fucking hell,” Sirius scoffs, kicking his feet from the table and leaning forward as if Dorcas is about to peer in and coo _who you talkin’ to?_ Fuck it, he thinks, throwing caution into the wind because his stomach hasn’t fluttered like this since that _really_ ill-advised relationship with Shacklebolt a half-year past and Remus’ banter is lovely and forward and roiling with a confidence that makes Sirius’ fingertips spangle.

**Sirius:** yeah, they’re out. Something vegan if they have it? I’ll transfer you cash.

**Remus:** No need. Ping me your address and I’ll be there in 20. I’m hoping for some top notch in-person flirting btw 😉

**Sirius:** in exchange for ramen? Always. Especially if the delivery boy is stunningly handsome 😇

The living room gets a quick tidy before Sirius sees Regulus off with ill-disguised giddy excitement to his shift at the restaurant. Sirius paces a little, back and forth in front of the sofa, hating the fact it had rained and he hadn’t gone running for quite as long as he’d liked this afternoon. The tidy ding of the doorbell catches him off guard and he jogs over to it, holding down the intercom.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Remus,” the voice answers, and _man alive_ , his voice is sinful even though the tinny distortion of the intercom. The video at the door kicks in a moment later and there indeed, is Remus, in jeans and a t-shirt, holding a takeout bag.

“Ah, no entry until you’ve declared the ramen,” Sirius replies, grinning into his own side of the camera.

Remus laughs, ringing through the crackling of the speaker, and holds the bag up to the camera. “Satisfied?”

“Not yet, but I think I will be,” says Sirius, his tongue slipping for a moment in the face of three beers and such a fine specimen of humanity in front of him. He buzzes open the door and listens for footfalls before he pulls open his flat door.

“Hi,” Remus greets him as he turns onto the landing, a strange little catch in his throat that Sirius thinks might come from his own appearance—he knows he’s attractive dammit, and he knows Remus thinks so too.

“Hey,” Sirius ushers out, stepping aside to allow him into the flat.

This should feel weird, Sirius thinks, as he leads Remus through to the kitchen, already commenting how good the food smells and how he got here quick and how had his day gone so far? But it doesn’t. It feels natural, it feels as normal as it would do perhaps getting to know an old friend with whom you’d lost touch a few years back.

They touch for the first time handing over a handful of cutlery and Sirius fumbles over the utensils and they crash to the floor unnoticed with how _electric_ Remus’ skin feels. They’re kissing on the next breath, hands skittering over what little exposed skin they can find. The ramen stays on the table as they stumble towards Sirius’ bedroom, Remus’ arms around Sirius’ waist, his head tilted up to taste Sirius’ kisses with surprising virility.

“Is this okay?” Remus breathes as he shuts the door behind them and Sirius pulls him towards the bed. Sirius knows what he’s thinking; _I wasn’t looking for a hook up, I wasn’t looking for a fuck but now here we are and I don’t know if I can_ ** _breathe_** _without kissing you anymore._

Sirius nods as he palms across the wall for the light switch and kicks off his shoes. “Yeah, _yes_ , God Remus.”

_You wanted chemistry_ , that optimistic Dorcas-voice pipes up, and Sirius just smiles into Remus’ mouth and lets Remus pull his shirt off and discover them both.

After, sweat-sheened, spent, smiling, far more than satisfied, Sirius retrieves their ramen bag from the kitchen and sits cross-legged opposite Remus, their knees pressing together. They’re in shirts and underwear—he’s wearing Remus’ shirt, he’s sure of it, it’s a little tighter across his shoulders, and his own shirt shows off Remus’ collarbone still red and bitten from Sirius’ teeth—but Sirius feels like this could be a fine-dining restaurant for the satisfaction settling in his stomach.


End file.
